


Sweater Weather

by RoseHipTea



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:23:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseHipTea/pseuds/RoseHipTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick just wants to sit at the bus stop and read his book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on a prompt from otppromts.tumblr.com.  
> This is super fluffy, and probably super cliche.

The bus stop was chilly in November. Patrick probably should have realized this before he left his house, but well, it was too late now, and an oversized sweater would have to do. Sighing, and smiling to himself at the cloud of steam from his mouth, he reached down and dug through the bag his feet for his battered old copy of To Kill A Mockingbird. He had been teased many times by family and friends alike for swearing by a book most considered highschool reading material, and while he certainly couldn’t deny that that was where most people first discovered the book, he held to his argument that it was relevant no matter how old you were. Every time he reread it (at least sixteen times, not that he was counting), he discovered something new.  
Yesterday he had gotten to the beginning of Tom Robinson’s trial before the bus arrived, and he considered just skipping the rest, weighing the possibility of tearing up against his dislike of skipping through books without respect for the proper order of things. He always got upset during this part. Sighing again, he decided he could take it. The air was cold enough that anyone watching would probably think that his eyes were just watering. Opening to his bookmark (popcorn scented, and taken from the children’s section of the local library, not that anyone needed to know that) and attempted to turn pages with his hands wrapped in the forest green material of his shirt down to the very tips of his fingers.  
Just as he had really settled into the story, could feel himself sitting in the Maycomb County courthouse, and was wishing for the warmth that actually being in Alabama would bring, he was abruptly pulled from his thoughts by the arrival of...someone interesting at least.  
The man had to be older than Patrick was, and was dressed like he had started out hardcore punk and then moved back into his mom’s basement on the condition that he tone down the wardrobe a little. His hair was black with badly dyed red bangs, fading back to what must have been a very dark brown, spiked awkwardly in the back. His ears had multiple piercings, and Patrick could see that all of the jewelry was covered in rhinestones, and at least three of them were pink. His jeans were light grey, each knee was adorned with a patch appearing to be handpainted with some kind of slogan that Patrick couldn’t read due to a combination of dirt, peeling paint, and terrible handwriting. His shirt was red and the vest over it was so covered in safety pins and buttons that it was impossible to tell what it was made of. His hoodie was patched and grubby. The pink jewels clashed with the rest of the ensemble, which irritated Patrick even more than his sudden arrival.  
His arrival was sudden in the sense that he fell over onto Patrick’s lap. Mumbling an apology, the man pulled himself to his feet and walked a few feet away, ignoring the stares of the few bystanders who had cared enough to look up from whatever they had been doing before crouching down to tie his shoelaces.  
Patrick tried to recover from the sudden shock of having a man (admittedly a fairly attractive one) crash onto his lap at a high rate of speed, and reimmerse himself in the trial occurring on the paper in front of him. Pushing up his black, square glasses,he consoled himself with the idea that this wannabe, washed up punk had probably never read and loved To Kill A Mockingbird, while turning back to the book and fighting down the blush rising on his cheeks.

*****

Pete was late again. Later than usual. He spent thirty seconds in the shower, and pulled on the jeans from yesterday and a Ramones shirt he’d owned since high school before grabbing his hoodie and running for the door. He ran down the stairs and through the lobby of his building, cursing at the freezing air that hit him and started to stiffen his wet hair. He tore down the street, crashing around corners with an alarming disregard for human life, before skidding to a halt in front of the bus stop.  
The guy he tripped into yesterday was here again, and Pete felt himself flush slightly at the memory. He hated being such a klutz, especially when there were hot guys involved, and this one was actually pretty hot. He was short and tiny, with razor sharp cheekbones. His hair was blond, but the roots were a darker shade, almost ginger. His glasses were black, with thick, square rims. He was wearing skinny jeans, green converse, and a giant blue sweater that came down to mid thigh. Just like yesterday, he was absorbed in a battered copy of To Kill A Mockingbird.  
Pete kind of wanted to befriend this man. He was cute, and reading one of Pete’s favorite books. He still had his high school copy in his bookshelf somewhere, stolen from a teacher, name long since forgotten. He really did his best to block out all of his time in school when he could. None of his memories from those years were happy; he had been angry at the world and angry at the people around him for daring to exist, and angry at himself for daring to exist. The only good thing to come out of school, he had long ago decided, was the books.  
Pete milled around aimlessly around the bench for the remaining time until the bus arrived, half making dares with himself to go talk to the blond guy, just to see if he would remember Pete, if he would be embarrassed, if he would talk to him about the book. By the time he had worked up the courage, the bus was there. Pete took it as a sign from the universe, and stayed quiet. Blond guy never once looked up.

*****

For once, the weather was nice enough that Patrick could sit outside without shivering. He was sitting on the what he had begun to think of as his bench, hands wrapped in the customary sweater out of habit. Rather than keeping him warm, the constricting fabric was meant to keep him from gnawing his fingernails to nubs as he read the final chapters of his book for the millionth time. The tension in the final pages always got to him, and every time the anticipation was like he was living in the story. He barely even registered the presence of another person on the bench until he turned his head slightly and caught a flash of dirty fire truck red in the corner of his eye.  
Blush fighting it’s way up at the memory of the man lying across his lap, Patrick’s head shot up in time to see the semi-punk turn to face him. Okay. The blush he was trying his best not to acknowledge had to be all over his face by now, because on second glance, this man was attractive. Like really attractive. Eyes skimming downward, Patrick saw the open book on his lap, and burst out laughing.  
“I don’t recall that part of the book being all that funny”. The man told Patrick with a confused, but good-natured smile on his face. “It’s been at least two years since I last read it, but I still think I’m right”. Patrick just laughed harder.  
After three minutes spent totally freaking out a total stranger, Patrick finally composed himself. “It’s just”, he started. “Two days ago, you fell on my lap and I was kinda pissed, nothing personal, you get it, it’s just the principle of the thing, but seriously. I swear to God that as you stood up the only thought in my head was ‘I bet this half-assed punk has never read To Kill A Mockingbird and liked it’”  
There was a beat of silence where the other man seemed to be in shock, and Patrick immediately jumped back in with “I’m sorry for calling you a half-assed punk in my internal monologue. If it makes you feel better-”  
‘It’s fine dude”, the man-who-was-not-a-half-assed-punk finally spat out between giggles (giggles. What was this amazing creature that Patrick had found?). “I am kind of a half-assed punk. But I have read To Kill A Mockingbird, and I did like it, and still do. It has way more to do with the current culture than most people realize. And I’m sorry for falling on you the other day.”  
“I’m Pete, and I’m your new best friend.”  
When people asked, those would be the words that Patrick used to describe their first meeting. 

*****

One year later, Pete got up early. He pulled himself out of his warm bed,and away from clinging limbs, pulled on the hoodie on the floor, and stumbled out the door, tripping over several pairs of sneakers on his way. He walked around the corner and down the street, taking a seat on the familiar bench of the bus stop. When the bus pulled up to the curb, he boarded, already thinking of the nearest bookstore.  
Forty five minutes later, he let himself back into the apartment, a brand new hardcover edition of To Kill A Mockingbird tucked under his arm. Patrick was in the kitchen making toast, and singing.


End file.
